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Summary
“‘Lus,” his voice softens, “what’s wrong?”
“I need you,” she rasps. Dew’s about to ask again when the scent hits him; honeysuckle, sweet nectar, vanilla. And under that, salt, tangy citrus, sheer need. Sex.
Dew clears his throat and tries not to groan. “You’re—”
“In heat,” Cumulus answers. “Please, I,” she whines, nearly doubling over, “it wants you. The heat it—I only want you."
